Gigin alone at the bottom of the hillOur protagonist named BillSets his sghts on an anchor steam pintAll he needs is thirteen quartersCongregated in his hatA crow, a scavenger typeCalifornia redemption provides him with his rentRoom and board inside a fifth of comfortAs the wind penetrates his bonesHis mind keep focusedTidal waves of sound catapultedFrom his horn wail like loversThe coins don't drop consistent as does the mercuryHis meter slows realizing a zenithHe's reached perfectionNo one did see him die